


preta

by ecorone



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blasphemy probably, M/M, Richard is a sophomore, and a taurus, buy one kink get one free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecorone/pseuds/ecorone
Summary: Richard gets his first D. [prompt fill #7: barely legal, gavrich]





	preta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dmajor7th](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmajor7th/gifts).



After an eternity and a half, Erlich leaves the office looking pissed off. “Careful, Richard. These are dangerous waters,” he mutters. “Belson’s extra bloodthirsty today. Could use a little prescription, am I right?” He mimes hitting a blunt.

“Uh, right, thanks.” He blinks away the mental image of a shark smoking pot. “See you back at the shithole.” 

Richard's mouth is dry, and his palms are damp, which is all backwards. He sends a quick prayer to Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg for strength. Then, he peeks half his head around the doorframe, catching a whiff of sandalwood and lavender essential oil. Dr. Gavin Belson is seated in front of his computer, face in profile scrunched, stabbing the keyboard with his fingers.

“Don’t,” he barks without looking over, “lurk half-hidden by the door like that. It creeps me out.”

“Sorry.” Richard shuffles his whole body in view and waits to be called in. Once again, he has temporarily misplaced the tunnel-vision confidence that got him a place on the Stanford Mock Trial team as a freshman and won him the tournament title of Outstanding Attorney back in January. It's all Dr. Belson's fault, really: the Religious Studies emeritus shreds Richard's nerves to confetti. Although the class had started in February, Richard didn't work up the courage to attend his office hours until March. He now considers himself an office hours regular (relative to the other students in the class), but it still has not gotten easier, in part due to Dr. Belson's dice-roll shifts in mood.

Dr. Belson looks over. “Oh, it's you,” he begins, and Richard’s shoulders sag in relief at finally catching his attention. “You're late.”

The relief vaporizes like dry herb in Erlich’s vape pen, leaving behind dregs of despair. “Yeah, uh, sorry, the line was unusually long today - which you knew, obviously. I’ll just… go now?” He recognizes the withering look on Dr. Belson’s face: it’s the one he makes during lecture when a student’s answer is egregious.

“Come in,” he says with a sigh. “And close the door behind you to keep the stragglers out.”

Richard complies. He takes a seat without being asked, which is something he learned to do from attending these office hours. Worrying his lower lip and jiggling his right leg, he first feigns interest in the new additions to the bookshelf but ends up fixating on how the blind-filtered afternoon sunlight cuts around Dr. Belson’s cheekbones, earlobes, jawline. The man doesn’t address him for another four or four hundred minutes, as he’s finishing up his emails.

“Alright,” he says, at last. “Sorry if I yelled at you. I haven’t been zen since Dr. Sarma went on maternity leave-” Someone knocks on the door, and Richard jumps when Dr. Belson shouts, “Go away!” Two seconds later, a stapled packet of papers slides in under the door.

After composing himself, he continues, “I never should have agreed to fill in as undergraduate advisor. Everyone warned me about the pre-meds, but the pre-laws are, by far, the worst.” Smirking, he looks pointedly at Richard. "They'll argue with you even when you're trying to help them." 

"Well, _I_ would say that-" Richard stops himself. "Mmf. Never mind. Anyway, I thought about your suggestions from last time and re-did my course plan." With a start, he realizes he should have readied his papers beforehand. He fumbles around in his overstuffed backpack, taking way too long to complete the simple task. “Got it,” he declares and places the creased print-out on the desk.

Dr. Belson takes a moment to roll up the sleeves of his cardigan, the act of which is probably illegal in at least three US states, because _fuckgoddamn._ “Excellent. History major, if I remember correctly?” 

Richard clears his throat. “History and Law.”

“Of course.” He picks up the papers and begins reading them. “That’s right. I think I remember you now. You’re in my Intro to Buddhism class, aren’t you?”

Richard bristles at the smile on his face. _Objection, badgering the witness_. Hah, hah,” he grits out before falling into a sulk. He hasn’t forgotten how it took Dr. Belson three separate office hours to learn his name, despite the fact that Richard always sits in the front row and contributes meaningfully to class discussion. It has not been an easy quarter: a combination of sophomore year stress and sexual frustration has driven him to writing incendiary devil’s-advocate essays for all of his classes. Not that Dr. Belson noticed.

“This is a solid plan. Ambitious, too - you’re on track to graduate early. I assume you’ve fulfilled the foreign language requirement through your AP classes?”

“Yup. I remember taking the AP Spanish exam on my 16th birthday.” He smiles and adds, “I used it as an excuse to take the whole day off.”

Dr. Belson quirks an eyebrow. “16th birthday, huh. How many grades did you skip?” He sets the papers down on the desk.

“Only two. It sucked ‘cause I was always the tiniest tot in my whole grade until, like, senior year of high school. Double sucked to be a minor in university. But that struggle is over now - I turned 18 two days ago, woo.” Richard grins half-heartedly.

Dr. Belson glances at three things in succession: his doctorate degree framed on the wall; the mass email titled “Updated Stanford University Code of Conduct” sitting unread in his inbox; the number of buttons left undone on Richard’s dress shirt (three). Then, he replies (low-pitched, almost a growl): “Good.”

The blush creeping on Richard’s ears matches the hue of the Chinese lantern hanging from the ceiling. “Um, sorry, did you just say _good_?” He crosses and uncrosses his legs. 

Dr. Belson’s gaze flicks to him like a throwing knife. “Good as in, you can vote in the upcoming midterm election. I apologize if that wasn’t clear.”

_A tombstone falls from the sky and lands on Richard’s head, cracking his skull open. Alas, he died too young - he never got the chance to bang his hot Religious Studies professor. His soul leaves his body and floats away to the hungry ghost realm._

He stands up, jolting Richard out of his vision. “Richard Hendricks,” he begins, and _holy fucking Gautama_ does his name feel good in Dr. Belson’s mouth, “I learned your name on the first day of class.” Smirking, he lets that revelation sink in, then adds, “Will you do me two favors?”

_Anything for you. x number of favors. y number of sex crimes._ “Sure.” He swallows, but there’s no saliva to go down. It doesn’t seem judicious to disclose the matter of his intact virginity.

“Number one: go and lock the door.”

To his credit, Richard (half-hard already) fulfills the request without fucking it up or tripping on the stapled packet. His skin is electrified, and his heart is thrashing around somewhere between his ear and his collarbone. Dr. Belson beckons him over. 

“Number two: don’t think about how many school regulations I’m about to violate.”

Richard shivers at the promises half-hidden in his words. Dr. Gavin Belson places a hand on either side of Richard’s hips and pushes up his shirt, exposing the slim patch of hair trailing down from his navel. He starts the lesson by tracing this path with reverent lips, and Richard swears he can call him anything he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> cornerstone - arctic monkeys


End file.
